


All Hail! Hell's Little Boy King!

by RiatheMai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Gen, Little Sammy Winchester, Sammy is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiatheMai/pseuds/RiatheMai
Summary: Fill for the LJ OhSam: Happy Birthday, Sam Winchester Hurt v Comfort meme prompt: "The BoyKing takes his seat on Hell's throne, but some wonder whether the crown fits. Literally. The BoyKing is barely ten years old." by lennelle on LJ.I made him a lot younger, but how could I not. Little Sammy is such a sweetheart.





	All Hail! Hell's Little Boy King!

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this months ago, and at the time I had no idea what--if anything--I'd ever do with it. When I saw this prompt, I knew I had to post it. 
> 
> This is unbetaed.

~~~~~~~~SPN~~~~~~~~

 

For the Devil, he really is a sweetheart, all bright eyes and dimpled smile and laughter like a summer stream. He's hugs and kisses and cuddles in his footed pajamas, teddy bear clutched in his arms as he drifts off to sleep. 

It's no wonder demons follow him wherever he goes. They are drawn to his light, for all they know is darkness. They are drawn to his warmth, for all they know is the bitter and blistering cold of Hell. 

They whisper in his dreams: "Let us in, for we are adrift and without a place to call home!" and he does, making of his soul a shelter because that is what good boys do. They help those in need. 

"You do need me, right?" he asks. It's what he wants, after all: to be needed, not just loved.

"Yes!"

They flit about him like moths, night after night, and their words dust his slumbering cheeks with powdered wings. "Become our Master, for we are without a purpose!" and so he does, taking up scepter, crook, and flail.

Hell's throne is cold and over-sized, and he wraps his inky wings around him like a cloak, footed feet tucked in warm against the icy fire. Hell's crown is heavy and much too large for one so small. It sits askew upon his head; tufts of chestnut curls adorn it like a wreath.

"All Hail! Sammy Winchester!" and he smiles at his subjects—at his demon hoard.

It's a smile as big and as bright as the summer sky. 

"All Hail! Hell's Little Boy King!" 


End file.
